


Penny and Me

by GrumpyJenn



Category: MacGyver (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Affection, F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyJenn/pseuds/GrumpyJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his birthday, Penny kissed him and he cooperated enthusiastically. The next time we saw them together they were affectionate in a very platonic way. Maybe this is why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penny and Me

Penny Parker isn’t stupid.

Not exactly. Mostly she’s sweet, and naive, and way too trusting; innocent too. God only knows how, what with the sort of trouble she gets herself – and everyone around her – into. Often.

I was icing a sprained ankle and watching hockey on TV. I looked up at the knock on the door.

“MacGyver?” Her voice was wavering, like she had been crying. “Can I come in? I…”

“Penny?” I was startled, and I shouldn’t have been. She _does_ get herself into trouble. “I’ll be right there,” I said, and hauled myself out of the chair.

People have asked me why I’m not with Penny. The reason is pretty simple. I like her. I even love her. But more like a hapless younger relative than anything more. Oh, she affects me; I’m not made of ice, and Penny Parker kisses _very_ well. And every time she smiles…  But basically, she’s just not my type. Not for that.

In true Penny Parker fashion, when I opened the door she launched herself at me, flinging her arms around my neck. With the bad ankle, I toppled like a tree and landed on my back with an armful of Penny on top of me.

But she didn’t kiss me.

She just clung to me, shaking like a leaf and sobbing quietly into my chest. This was not normal Penny Parker behavior and it alarmed me, so I stroked her hair and made shushing noises until she stopped shivering. Then I sat up and pulled her into my lap, trying to catch her eye. She finally looked up at me, and I realized two important things. The first was that even the minor tug of physical attraction I had felt the last time she’d kissed me - on my birthday - was gone.

The second was that I had a strong urge to hunt down and kill whoever had blackened her eye. I throttled it back because if I let her see how angry I was, I’d scare her more than she already was.

“Penny,” I said as gently as I could, “Who did this to you?”

Suddenly she was herself again, telling me a long and involved story, in no hurry to get to the point, and I let her run on because she needed it badly. It would have been a long story even if it hadn’t been Penny telling it, but it boiled down to this: She had been arguing with a high-powered guy she was dating, he hit her, and the next thing she knew a cop was shaking her, telling her her date was dead ( _good_ , I thought a little viciously, _now I don’t have to find him and kill him myself_ )  and saying they’d have to bring her in for questioning. They took her to the station (“Why didn’t you call me? You’re entitled to a phone call,” I asked at that point, but she just kept right on going), but they let her go pretty quickly once they figured out she couldn’t have killed him.

“Wait,” I said as she finally wound down. “Let me be sure I understand a few things.” I’m not stupid either, but getting all the pertinent details from a Penny Parker story requires concentration. And usually corroboration. “Why did they decide you couldn’t have done it?”

“Didn’t I say? I thought I did. They found him on the sidewalk nine stories down. And he’s - he _was_ \- a big guy, I guess they figured I’m too small to have pushed him through the window--” She kept talking, but I listened with one ear while I processed this new information.

This guy had hit her, knocked her out or at least stunned her, and someone in the meantime had pushed him out a ninth-floor plate glass window. The police had let her go, so she must not have seen anything and… I interrupted the flow of words. “Penny. What did the police ask you? And has anyone looked at that eye?”

“Eye?” She scrambled off me and stood up, rushing into my bathroom. “Owwww!” I rolled my eyes and got laboriously to my feet. I hopped to the sofa and put my sore ankle back up, waiting for Penny to realize that just because she could _see_ the bruise didn’t mean it suddenly hurt. I knew it wasn’t the way it looked that bothered her in any case; Penny’s not vain like that. It’s part of that innocence.

I had plenty of ice packs to go around anyway.

But when she came back out she was subdued again, and her lower lip was quivering. She still didn’t kiss me, which was so unlike her that I was afraid it meant that she’d been… no, she hadn’t mentioned anything untoward but the fist to the face during her ramblings. “C’mere,” I said, and held out my arms.

Penny dropped gracelessly onto the couch next to me and buried her face between my shoulder and neck. I put my arm around her and pulled her closer. And all I felt was affection, friendship. Protectiveness. Like a big brother.

And she seemed to feel the same way, seeing me as a protector, because she sighed and snuggled in, and fell asleep. Without any kissing at all.

I didn’t mind.

Because it meant she knew she could trust me, even without suggesting there was something in it for me.

Wise of her. You see, Penny Parker isn’t stupid.

In some ways, she’s the smartest of us all.


End file.
